


Synesthesia

by TheAwkwardEnthusiast



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, Empurata, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Post-Dark Cybertron, Post-War, Reconciliation, Redemption, Secret Solenoid (2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22070665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwkwardEnthusiast/pseuds/TheAwkwardEnthusiast
Summary: Shockwave finds himself having trouble adjusting to the world he'd once been on the precipice of destroying. He feels lost, alone and deeply afraid. No longer does he have the charisma and bold charms of his former Senator self and his empurata threatens to be the one thing keeping him from finding his place.But an old friend comes to his aid and helps remind him that all is not as lost as it seems.
Relationships: Optimus Prime & Shockwave
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40
Collections: Secret Solenoid '19-'20





	Synesthesia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBestDecepticonLeader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBestDecepticonLeader/gifts).



> My gift contribution for the 2019-2020 Secret Solenoid Exchange! Happy new year and I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

Shockwave had once been able to taste the stars. 

Now, the phrase itself was a bit misleading. For a mech like himself who dedicated their life to the dichotomy of science, it was blasphemy and he’d sooner had lost his glossa than admit to ever speaking such awful purple prose. 

It was illogical but times had the power to change a mech and time had been cruel and unforgiving to him in the worst of ways. 

Sure, he’d been vain and the loss of his face yielded a blow he’d never recovered from and the loss of his hands made him incapable of pursuing his infatuation with the sciences as best he could but in that moment, they were trivialances.

Empurata had robbed Shockwave of his ability to taste. 

It seemed like a marginal loss. What is taste to sight and touch, after all? Many mechs lived their lives preferring bland unleaded Energon instead of the comforting sour fizz of enex and they were none the wiser for it. It wasn’t a fundamental aspect of sentience or existence and one was expected to cope without being able to indulge in it. 

But unfortunately, all of Shockwave’s best memories had involved taste. 

Success had tasted of sweet plasma. It’d left him reeling with excitement and awe, desperate for more as it reignited all those unspoken ambitions that his peers in the Senate had tried so hard to extinguish.

Passion had been ironically more subdued. It was warm and smooth on his glossa, like a finely aged Visco, and burned softly in his chest until it was fed and forced to bloom into an inferno that sparked all of his endeavors and accomplishments.

One of those accomplishments stood out from all the rest. Like a shining beacon of light that served as a flickering hope for all the Cybertronian race. Even after the war had carried the world into chaotic oblivion, the light had never been extinguished and remained as tried and true since the first moment it’d been allowed to flourish.

Orion Pax. 

Or, as he was more aptly named now, Optimus Prime.

Shockwave had sparse memories of Orion Pax. He remembered the outburst of the police enforcer during the Senate meeting, of course, where a battered but unbroken Orion spoke vehemently against the injustice of their government and all but condemned himself to oblivion for his audacity.

His voice had been unwavering, each word echoing off the walls of the grand assembly chambers and forcing all the unwilling to finally listen. Shockwave remembered being surprised, but only mildly, and he’d been the lone one who’d allowed himself to focus with rapt attention on each word that had been spoken.

The words were moving, incredibly so, but they paled in comparison to the taste they’d carried. Verbal irreverence seemed to have a taste all on its own; vibrant and burning, as if each word were a burning astronomical wonder upon one’s glossa.

Shockwave had gotten his first taste of the stars then. And he’d become addicted from the first dose and he’d promptly sought out to ensure Orion’s well-being for the sake of being able to experience the sensation over and over.

Their relationship had started out as one of convenience. But over the course of the orns, it’d morphed into something deeper and more meaningful. He remembered their bench, the one with the broken leg both promised to fix but never got the time to do so, where they’d sat and conversed of all the good they’d wanted to see done in the world.

Shockwave recalled the botched mission for the Matrix, the one Orion had promised him would go well, as any optimistic friend does, and had all but destroyed their one chance at being able to see their hopes fruition together. He’d allowed himself to be taken away for the sake of those hopes, silently begging for Orion not to dwell on this sole setback.

Then there was the Institute. Pain, hopelessness, darkness and finally, the cold dark expanse of nothingness.

Orion had held onto his promise from all those millennia ago and even as Shockwave had stood on the brink of true failure, he had remained hopeful for the two of them together. With the strength of the Matrix he’d been bestowed and the compassion that made him who he was, Optimus had managed to reach out and tether Shockwave to the only reality that truly mattered.

But it’d come at a costly price.

Shockwave had lost count of the days he and Optimus sat in the quiet comfort of his new apartment, afts planted on those plush burgundy couches opposite one another and nursing steaming cubes of enex from Optimus’ private collection. Neither said anything and the cubes remained untouched up until the Prime’s personal comm blinked and he was summoned to attend to important matters elsewhere, gripping Shockwave’s shoulder briefly before disappearing.

In the silence that followed, Shockwave waited for the numbness to creep in but all he could feel was pain. Pain that reminded him of just how broken he really was and how he could never truly return to be the mech he’d been before the empurata and shadowplay.

Before he could feel overwhelmed enough to act on those feelings, Optimus always managed to return somehow and he’d place his hand on Shockwave’s shoulder and suddenly everything would be alright.

New cubes were poured and they’d sit in silence once more, both wanting to say something but neither familiar enough with the other to know how to begin.

With time, the routine became familiar and Shockwave looked forward to every session with a quiet fervor. Any psychologist would have noted that their interactions were unorthodox, bordering dangerously close to unhealthy but they helped and Shockwave would be loathed to imagine being robbed of such stability.

But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. And they did.

One orn, Shockwave had sat in his usual seat to wait for Optimus. He’d procured some reading material to pass the time, taking a few breaks to sneak a glance at his chronometer to ensure he wouldn’t miss the moment that Optimus arrived.

The time soon came but Optimus did not.

Now, Shockwave was a rationale being by nature. He quickly assumed that perhaps Optimus had found himself delayed by some impromptu event. Being the religious figurehead of the blossoming world government was an occupation with a constantly changing job description after all, with the well-being of the general population and infrastructure ranking higher on the to-do list than Shockwave ever could.

However, Shockwave’s coldness to slights had disappeared alongside the shadowplay and he couldn’t quell the hurt that blossomed in his chest at being stood up. He said nothing, instead trying to focus all of his energy on reading through the complexities of interdimensional psionics.

It worked for a new nanokliks but the crude diction and unengaging layout of the results and findings did little to rouse Shockwave’s unbounded thirst for intellectual stimulation and he quickly lost interest.

He set the datapad down on the table in front of him, next to his now-cold cube of enex, and rose from his seat. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the small room, bouncing off the walls to an even tune as Shockwave slowly began to pace around the perimeter.

Hydraulics hissed softly every so often, balancing gyros recalibrating every time Shockwave changed direction or stopped to realign the frames lining his walls. His fingers were quick to wipe away smudges and streaks in the furniture, single gold optic narrowing at the imperfections before slowly mellowing out into the familiar circle of neutrality.

It was after he allowed himself to idle by the tinted glass of his window that his internal comm finally beeped.

With a quickness that Shockwave attributed more to routine than desperation, he opened it and he gaped at the message that met him. It was from Optimus, lacking explanation for his absence but instead encouraging Shockwave to rendezvous with him at Maccadam’s for a “drink”.

It was simple and curt, far too unfeeling for Optimus’ normally long messages.

Shockwave found his curiosity piqued, fingers stroking the bottom of his helm with languid inquisitive strokes. Optimus was a private mech and he’d been the one to insist that their meetings take place within the walls of Shockwave’s apartment. Shockwave had initially thought it was meant to avoid unwanted scrutiny; for after all, what would the people think to see the Prime with the madmech who’d nearly brought about the destruction of them all?

But Shockwave had slowly come to see that it was Optimus’ way of protecting him.

For the world was cruel and its denizens even more so. Most bots lacked Optimus’ ability to forgive and Shockwave had enacted enough atrocities, both directly and indirectly, to warrant him the clemency of no one. 

As a result, Shockwave had kept his outings to a minimum and he’d grown alienated from the very world he’d once been devoted to bettering.

An interesting juxtaposition and one that Optimus no doubt felt was time to rectify.

Shockwave cycled a ventilation. “Leave it to him to be so spontaneous.” The words were brisk but layered with a sad warmth that was reserved only for Optimus. Had any other mech done such a thing, Shockwave would have had no qualms severing ties without so much as a written response.

But Optimus was different. He was a friend, perhaps the only one Shockwave would ever hope to have from then on out. So though his fingers shook slightly as he texted back an affirmative, Shockwave couldn’t bring himself to regret it much when he pressed send.

___

The trek to Maccadam’s was a brief one. Even as Shockwave opted for the longer and less populated routes towards the popular bar, the trip amounted to less than a joor and by the time the nerves had set in, Shockwave was already pushing his way inside to the bright flashing lights and harsh buzzing of conversation.

A few patrons near the entrance paused to look at him but one look at his missing hand and singular optic and they’d gone right back to their own colloquy, acting as if they hadn’t even looked in the first place. It was unclear if it was because they’d recognized him or of the empurata but whatever it was, Shockwave felt relieved.

He slipped in easily, shutting the door behind him and his dark paint allowed him to meld in with the cool colors of the establishment. There were bots of all sizes, many bigger than Shockwave himself so it was easy to keep a low profile as he slipped into a corner from whence to get a better look of the patrons.

Even through the throng of dancing mechs, Shockwave’s sharp gaze landed quickly on the Optimus’ red and blue color scheme on the opposite end of the bar, seated alone and nursing a cube of what looked suspiciously like high grade.

If he had a face, Shockwave would have frowned. Optimus didn’t even like high grade, much less whatever crude iteration would produce such a sickly looking pink glow. It reminded Shockwave too much of Dark Energon and the shiver that went through his frame at the correlation was almost instinctual.

Without warning, he pushed his way towards the Prime, ignoring the haunted looks and whispered curses, until he finally came to a halt just beside the table.

“Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly acquired a taste for such crude imbibes, Optimus.”

The sound of his voice made Optimus freeze, cube poised over his exposed lips. Slowly, those ice blue optics glanced over towards him and Shockwave swore there was a hint of bemusement lingering in his gaze.

“Not particularly,” Optimus replied, setting the cube down. “But Blurr said it was on the house.”

Both mechs turned towards the main bar, locking onto the blue blur of the establishment’s latest owner. Shockwave had sparse memories of the former racer, most of them unpleasant run-ins during the war. Shaking his helm, he reached out to push the cube away from Optimus and slipped into the empty chair across from him.

Optimus watched him with easy optics, smiling when Shockwave settled and crossed his arms over the table’s somewhat sticky surface. “I see you received my message?”

Shockwave nodded, “yes. Though I’m afraid it wasn’t a pleasant surprise.” He wiped away a few crumbs from the table’s surface. “Even before the empurata, I never particularly enjoyed places like these.”

Optimus was quiet for a few moments, no doubt caught off guard by the mention of the empurata, and Shockwave internally cursed for having broken what seemed to have been their first amiable conversation since Primus knows when.

He suppressed a sigh, fingers curling silently into a fist.

Shockwave waited for the inevitable awkward silence but it never came. Instead, Optimus reached out to place his hand on his arm and asked if he wanted a drink.

Shockwave hesitated. “I don’t drink,” he said lamely, though what he meant to say was quite obvious.

“I know,” Optimus replied. “But I remember that you always liked having a cube during friendly discourses, even if you didn’t necessarily drink it.”

“Did I?” Shockwave hates how dispassionate he sounds but it’s become an almost automatic response to every unearthed memory of the past. A defense mechanism to protect himself from the feelings of inadequacy that constantly assaulted him and never failed to remind that he’d been better once before.

But in spite of the harsh retort, Optimus remained unfazed. “You did,” he reaffirmed softly.

Shockwave glanced away briefly, finding himself beguiled with the gentleness of the tone that Optimus had suddenly adopted. “What else do you remember?”

It’s a selfish request. There are more important, more interesting things that they could be conversing about but Shockwave finds nothing stirring his curiosity like Optimus’ tone just did. He wants to know more about the mech that originally carried his name, the one that had since become a stranger to him when he’d allowed his infatuation with logic and ambition to take control of him all those eons ago.

“Senator Shockwave was quite the character,” Optimus replied, indulging him. His hand retreated to clasp the other, helm tilting as he delved into his memory banks. “Stubborn. Compassionate and focused only on the future.” A pause. “He was vastly intelligent, knowing when to push and when to take a few measured steps back but never idling. It’s what made him a great scientist...but ultimately a terrible politician.”

Shockwave helm jerked back a bit in surprise. “He sounds...contradicting.”

“All mechs tend to be,” Optimus answered.

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“No. Should it?”

Taking a moment to gauge his response, Shockwave shrugged. “Perhaps not,” he said. “but it does.” His gaze went to the pink cube loitering beside his arm and for a moment, the desire to chug the thing down was almost overpowering. He knew it would burn, from the moment it touched his glossa to the second it finally landed in his fuel tank. The damage it would cause would outweigh the benefit of the overcharge it would provide, a terribly unbalanced price to pay.

But he craved for it. No, _longed_.

For what it represented and all that Shockwave would never be able to have again.

“Shockwave.” There’s that gentleness again, the one that’s quick to capture his attention like a turbohound on the scent of a glitchmouse, and Shockwave doesn’t have time to feel ashamed for how quickly his helm snaps back to face Optimus.

He’s leaning forwards, finding himself already drinking in every word that the Prime has to say before it even leaves his lips.

“I’ve forgive you. You know that, right?”

Oh yes, Shockwave had known that from the moment he’d become lucid enough to know just how far the extent of his own depravity had extended. He said nothing, however.

Optimus was silent for a moment. “Do I still remain your brightest hope?”

Shockwave feels a rush of emotion that would have left him gasping if he’d been able to. “Of course.”

“Then prove it.” It’s not a demand but a request, Shockwave can tell by the way that Optimus’ optics brighten with the soft-spoken plea.

“Why?” Shockwave asks, finding himself at a complete loss.

“You’ve always been the one who’d shouldered the burdens in our friendship,” he replied. “In the past, you hoped for the both of us. Even when I...didn’t particularly hold the same optimistic enthusiasm for the ambitions we both shared. But the tables have turned and I’d be a terrible friend if I allowed yourself to believe you are no longer worthy.”

Optimus reached across the table and placed his hands over Shockwave’s, not even flinching when one wrapped around his arm cannon. His blue optics bore deeply into Shockwave’s singular one and for a brief moment, Shockwave felt seen.

Truly seen, so much more than the emotionless and malformed husk he’d once believed himself to be. It sends a warmth straight down to his very core, igniting something that has his Spark slowly turning in his chest. It’s not quite excitement but it lacks the fervor of romance.

No, it’s something much more profound. The likes of which Shockwave vaguely remembered having felt only once in his life, back when an unnamed enforcer had stormed through the doors of the assembly with the body of a broken prisoner, riddled with wounds but somehow managing to appear mightier than all the Senate put together.

His optics had skimmed over Shockwave once, full of fire and determination, and there, Shockwave had gotten his first ever taste of the stars.

Of that tingling and electric taste of hope that burned as bright as its namesake.

Even without a glossa, Shockwave felt the telltale prickle within his frame and he reached out to grasp and cling to it with all of his might. Beneath him, his hands turned to grasp Optimus’ fingers in silent affirmation of their newly minted agreement.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Shockwave said and he only hoped that, with time, he’d truly mean it. But something told him that Optimus would be there every step of the way to make sure that reality would, without a doubt, come to fruition.


End file.
